


Déjà Vu

by CommanderMerone



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person, back to ludendorff for everyone, yep even franklin for some reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderMerone/pseuds/CommanderMerone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You find yourself back in Ludendorff, but why?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Déjà Vu

It was just a routine job... in North Yankton.

You find that you cant really remember the details or circumstances that got you back to this place, but that isn't really what's getting to you. Trevor being here's somewhat understandable, but why Franklin? Did you manage to rope them into this somehow? As you try to think it through, maybe even piece things together, your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of fingers snapping.

".. _ichael_."

"Huh?"

"Michael! Whassa'matter, you fat fuck, can't take a little ride without noddin' off?" The harsh tones of your old friend's voice, much clearer than your hazy memories, sort of match both your irritated frown and his taunting grin. Why is he grinning? Once you manage to take stock of your surroundings, his cheeriness just seems... off. For one, you're all speeding down the road as cops chase after you! It's somewhat familiar, if a strange sense of familiar, but what the fuck's his deal?

Sirens are steadily going off behind you, but you're pretty sure Franklin can handle the getaway, which he does spectacularly at. Well... You all barely manage to beat the train, and the force of it sideswiping you leaves the car pretty much useless. None of you can do much with that, though he manages to get you to a stop that doesn't involve wrapping everyone around a tree. Which of course, leaves you with only one main problem. And a feeling of déjà vu that can also be described as foreboding, but still. How are you supposed to get out of here? Not sure where exactly to go from here, you all get out of the car, only pausing momentarily to check for injuries.

"We can get to the chopper if we go this way!"

"No, stick to the plan." But what _is_ the plan?

As you walk along the trail, your destination set as the barn in the distance, that same sickening feeling of déjà vu hits you again, much stronger this time. It persists this time around, and you're just about to voice it when a gunshot pierces the air, startling both you and Franklin. You turn to see Trevor's reaction... and honestly wish you hadn't. The target of the bullet makes itself painfully clear as Trevor, fucking _Trevor_ , crumples to the snow, his right eye and a section of the back of his skull totally missing. The soft crunching of the snow is as loud to you as the discharge from a gun, and the world seems to slow to an agonizing crawl while you focus on your friend's body.

This isn't how things are supposed to be. The sense of déjà vu, of memories from times that never passed, tells you that this was exactly how things were supposed to be. "It ain't supposed to go down like this." Except it _is_. The kid's confused by your words, but he's probably attributing it to grief, considering the situation. You can feel your knees buckle, and you're pretty sure you might collapse next to your ~~friend's~~ _best_ friend's body, when more bullets whizz past you.

You don't manage the first bit of running, still jarred from the loss of Trevor, and the look on his face... God, just once, he managed to look calm. It just didn't seem right, though you now realize what this is. And while that explains Trevor, Franklin's still an oddity. A welcome one, as he's half-dragging half-guiding you to cover, though it doesn't last long.

You know this shot's supposed to hit you, but it doesn't make you any more prepared for it. Franklin makes it to cover, but you go down, already going into the routine in spite of yourself. "Ah, fuck. I'm hit! Ah, Jesus, F, you gotta get outta here."

He clearly doesn't want to go along with that, already yelling that he could help you, that you could get out of here if you just let him. But you continue, seemingly stuck on some sort of script. Why even bother? It's not like it hurts. "Go!" You press your hand to the imagined wound, the false pain leaking into your voice. "God, I'm not gonna make it. Fucking gonna bleed out..." You try to stop the words, not wanting Franklin to have to deal with those lies, and the kid's expression hurts you more than the shot does.

So, you try to calm him down, show that you're okay, not realizing that the force of the shot caused you to lose your words. N _o...kid, I'm okay, it's just a vest! I'll be--_ A burning sensation flares up where the bullet was supposed to stop, and you realize what Franklin already did--You've actually been shot. He seems to want to drag you into cover, or try and help you in some way, but you clearly don't want to go down this road again. His mouth moves, but for a few brief moments, all you can see is Trevor yelling that he won't leave you.

And you just can't do that again. Not again.

"F, just get outta here!"

"Nah dog, we can do this!"

" **Franklin!** " Your yelling makes him stop to listen, and you weakly repeat, "Just get outta here, kid..."

You can see that he's close to arguing with you, every tense of his jaw and every fidget representing another comment that he's bitten back to try and listen to you. He's such a good kid... You really don't deserve this son in the slightest, but you can at least try to get him out of here safely. _You can try._ As you lift the rifle, you repeat those words to yourself, also trying to ignore how oddly optimistic that is for you.

"I'll cover you, now go."

There's a brief moment of hesitation, then he nods solemnly and tries to make a break for it. A few well-placed shots from you take down several of the cops trying to shoot him, though another well-placed shot fucks up your hand something fierce. Shit, you cant tell who shot it--was it Dave? is he even here?--so you yell for Franklin to run.

Which is when he takes the first bullet.

There was a barn there once, though. It should've shielded Franklin, where did it go? The shot going through his arm is bad, but you tell yourself he should be able to survive that, and you desperately try and aim at whoever's shooting. Why were things different now why was everything so... barren? You know Ludendorff was bad, but it was never this fucking podunk. Then the second shot tears through his thigh, causing him to stumble. At this point you drag yourself up to at least shield him from anymore shots. "Frank c'mon, I got you...Just keep going." You start to limp away together, blood staining the wide expanse of snow beneath you, when another gunshot is heard.

You quickly check yourself, and while you hope it wasn't anywhere near either of you, the look on Franklin's face tells you that was far too optimistic. He almost seems surprised to be shot, then the pain takes over as he staggers towards you and collapses. You manage to catch him, though his weight combined with your injuries cause you both to go down. It's hard to tear your eyes away from the sucking wound in his chest, though dealing with his face isn't much better. As his eyes begin to go glassy, you scream for him to stay awake, to stay with you, that you're sorry.

You scream.

And you scream.

And you scream yourself awake, your pistol in hand.

The strangled cry echoes throughout the house, and you're reminded that Amanda and the kids are still gone. You take a few moments to catch you breath and relax the death grip on your pistol, honestly glad you kept your finger outside the trigger guard, then take a cursory glance at your phone resting on the nightstand. You don't check your phone out of worry. You just... you just wanted to see if there were any messages left, which there aren't.

And then you decide to have a drink. Or five. You need something to soothe your throat, right?

**Author's Note:**

> I thought it'd be fun to write out a hypothetical night terror for Michael to go through, and I was right!


End file.
